Queen of Hearts
by Twoformemories
Summary: Two shot. The throne is won, Aizen is king. But to keep his throne, he may need to do something terrible. Bleach AU, set after Come Back Alive to this Place by Sariniste.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a fic a very long time in coming. It is written is response to the lovely Sarininste's Come Back Alive to This Place, which is on this site and a read I highly recommend. It's advised you read that story before this one, but it can stand alone if necessary. Still, she is a wonderful author and I highly recommend her body of work.**

**Enjoy.**

()o()

Aizen sat alone.

Those who had borne witness to Aizen being crowned king of the Seireitei would be shocked to see him now.

There was hardly a trace of the man who, with typical impunity, had taken the crown at his own coronation from the high priest's hands and, there, before the assembled nobility of the realm, placed the stolen crown upon his own brow, as if challenging anyone to refute his claim. None had. His eyes had shone with amusement then, the calm, confident eyes of a man who knew some secret of the world and would not share. But not now. Now, in the darkness of the underground chamber, Aizen's eyes smoldered like amber set aflame. His brown hair, usually tousled almost carelessly, with a single strand hanging before his composed and handsome face, now hung in true dishevelment before a visage pale and haunted. A tension gripped his muscular frame, obvious even through his royal white robes, a tension like a spring wound too tight to the point of destroying the whole carefully crafted mechanism. His crown, like it had been that fateful day, once more hung in his hands, but limply, and Aizen turned the golden ring slowly over in the light of the few guttering candles he suffered in the chamber.

But none would see their king upon this second throne, for this chamber buried deep beneath the palace was a secret known only to him, with neither builder nor architect capable of betrayal. Of course, when amongst his subjects, Aizen remained the calm, austere and collected king with an indulgent smile on his lips and an appearance carefully cultivated to impress. However, even that façade had begun to crack, and as a result he had been all but invisible for some days. He couldn't keep up the appearance any longer. Only in this room could he relax his guard, even a fraction, and let some true emotion show, for the mask had grown heavy, and he must find relief of it, lest the man beneath go mad. Then again, there were those who believed Aizen to have gone mad long ago.

Aizen raised his eyes from the crown to the pedestal - the only other furnishing in the room - forming a center piece for the cylindrical chamber. It was taller than his throne, and upon its peak, resting on a blood red pillow fringed with gold, was an orb. It was pure black; the glow of the candles seemed to wash over it like a film, as if unable to penetrate into the denser core.

The Hogyoku.

Aizen continued to consider the orb for a long time, his fingers tracing the contours of the crown he held, the gems he had installed in it after it was his. Gems he had stolen as the pirate king. He stood. He stepped towards the pedestal and dropped the crown atop the orb, the ring of gold falling askew on it, and there remained.

Slowly, Aizen paced about the pedestal, hands rubbing his face as if to hide his exhaustion from the shadows. He pulled them away and glanced with sudden sharpness at a flash in the orb, like a sly wink of light.

He watched it as if expecting more. "It's all gone wrong," he muttered darkly. He waited again, but no response. "All of it. Do they think I don't hear them muttering their discontent? Ha!" The laugh snapped through the dark like the crack of a shot. He resumed his pacing, shoulders hunched and head crouched between them. "Yes, they loved me when I was beating back the invaders from their shores. I was the hero. I knew I'd be. You showed me it, how to get there. How to become king."

From the corner of his eye Aizen caught an image in the sphere: a hall strewn with tapestries and filled with people in lavish clothes, himself crowned, and at his side, his queen. His lip twisted bitterly.

"Yes," he said hoarsely. Then, in sudden fury, "Yes, you told me all that. But you didn't tell me I might not live to keep it!"

Aizen suddenly turned about. He ground a hand against his brow, reversing the direction of his pacing. He chuckled thinly. "Did they think reforms just happen?" he asked the shadows, gesturing to them as if to an unseen audience. "Yamamoto practically drove the kingdom to the ground! Of course I raised taxes. Of course I shuffled the bureaucracy; put my Captains in positions of power. I had their loyalty. No one else's. How else was I supposed to get the money? Go back to pirating?" He chuckled darkly. The Hogyoku flushed with an image of Aizen on the deck of a ship surrounded by a collection of ten grim figures, men and women, facing against a stormy sea. "Ah yes," Aizen said as he caught sight of the orb. "They at least have proven effective commanders." He grinned again. "They at least know how to lead troops. Where the priorities lie. Give them power, position, or money, and they'll stay. The old men they replaced were next to useless! Why else did they think the enemy managed to get so close to victory? The whole navy had no one worth its command!"

He started back as the image faded and a new one came to light: that of a light skinned woman with sharp eyes, her short black hair woven with a pair of white braids, frozen in the instant that Aizen's blade opened her chest with a stroke of his blade. He made a sudden gesture with his hand as if to ward away the image. "Her. Her! Fool! All three of them. They gave me no choice. She was too loyal to the failed system. They all were! Yamamoto was dead. I saved their kingdom! What else did they need to see me as king?"

Aizen abruptly stopped. He turned to face the visage now rising in the orb's surface. A heart shaped face with loving, trusting grey eyes, framed by a mane of soft auburn hair, a smile both kind and understanding upon her face. And around her head, the crown of the queen. Aizen clenched his teeth and balled his fists, but could not look away. A hand rose towards the image as if to stroke the pale cheek. "Yes…Orihime. My queen," he rasped, then chuckled dimly. "As my popularity falls hers only seems to rise. 'Gem of the Realm' they call her." His fingers hit glass. Aizen grew silent. "When the coup comes, she'll be fine. They want a queen. She'd be…" His lips twisted in irony. "…Useful for the crown."

"But enough. Enough!' Aizen turned away and cast his hand over the orb, returning it to its patient darkness. "All of this I know. This is all the past! I don't care for the past. You have not told me what is next. They spread their rumours about my reign, turning the people against me. I hunt down their agents and more seem to crop up like weeds! Where will my enemies strike from? Where are the roads of probability?" He whirled back around. In sudden violence he grabbed up the Hogyoku and held it near his face, the orb fitting comfortably in his palm and the crown falling about his wrist like a manacle. He shouted into the glass. "What is the greatest threat to my happiness!?"

An image resolved in the Hogyoku. Seeing what lay within, Aizen dropped the orb. Like the spring had snapped at last he lunged with feverish haste. At the last moment before it shattered on the stone he caught it, fumbling with the sphere until shaking fingers grasped it securely between them. His heart beat horribly in his chest. He raised it up and gazed into the image between his white knuckles. Once more he looked at Orihime, but now a child was in her arms. Brown haired with wide, grey eyes, his cherubic form cradled to her breast, she smiling down with motherly warmth.

Aizen said nothing. His face was cast deep in shadows.

"No," he hissed. He gave the orb a violent shake as if to change the image. "No!" But when he looked within again it was the same. Remembering himself he returned the orb to its cushion. He stumbled backwards and slumped into his throne. His arms fell to the sides, and his crown clattered to the floor with a piercing ring. Aizen was unaware of any of this. The Hogyoku filled his vision, and, consequently, the smiling faces in it.

"I…I can't," he whispered. He threw an arm across his eyes, turning his head and whispering into his sleeve. "If I were to kill her, I'm doomed. She slips from me. She doesn't trust me. Ah. Ah…" He pressed a hand against his brow. "If she dies, the whole kingdom turns on me. My position depends on her…How…But she won't talk to me. Not right now. I need to be strong. They only understand strength…Tried to explain. Why can't she understand? I can't…she's too important…That's why…But she was furious." He buried his face in his hands. His voice came out, muffled and exhausted. "He was there to kill her too. Why couldn't she understand that? I couldn't let him live. None of them. Examples had to be made…"

Though Aizen did not see it, the image in the orb had changed. Several men stood hooded atop a gibbet. One was in rags, his back lacerated by whips and still oozing blood, but he stood straight and proud, defiant. Another was in fine robes, obviously noble and shaking with terror, and with him were several others in much the same situation. In this memory Aizen overlooked the scene from atop a balcony projecting from the castle. He was dressed in all the splendour of his royalty, tall and grim beneath his flashing crown and red mantle. Orihime stood beside him, her expression pained, the wind whirling her white and black dress about her figure. She gently reached out to him, to touch his shoulder, but at that moment Aizen stepped away and gave a sudden motion with his hand. A lever was pulled. The floor of the gibbet dropped out.

The corpses gave a jerk and swung limp like pendulums. Aizen smiled, satisfied, and turned to his wife. Orihime looked at him. Her lips were a thin line and eyes cold with anger. She turned and returned to the palace, left Aizen standing, perplexed, alone on the balcony before the muted crowd.

The image faded and as Aizen looked up he saw once more the mother and son. His eyes were feverish with a sort of desperation they had never known before. He stared at the face, so beautiful, like the first day he had seen her in the orb, when he had orchestrated their coming together. Her kidnapping, arrangements, all to win, save the kingdom, all with the help of the orb which now defied him. Something was wrong with him. He knew it. Had he relied on the Hogyoku so long that he was unable to make a decision without knowing the outcome already? He laughed, and stopped abruptly when the broken sound reached his ears.

Aizen leaned back in his throne in dark humour. Two fingers were pressed against his forehead, the other hand drummed contemplatively into the arm of his throne. Then, very slowly, his lips lifted into a smile, a familiar one, confident like a snake which has seen its prey.

"Yes. Why not?" He chuckled and rose, his robes whispering over the stones as he again began to pace, quick, then calm, slow and measured steps. "If they loved me at a distance, why not again?" he asked the room. "I will be their pirate king once more. The people love romance. If they need new tales of daring then I'll give it to them." He chuckled and stroked his hand back through his hair, setting it once more in the beginning of its familiar shape. His hand paused as a new thought came to him. His eyes flashed to the face in the orb once more and he gave himself a violent shake. "Their hate can be directed at the clerk. The tax collector. The king could not know what is being done in his name they will say. He is gone. Parasites within the palace do it. And when I return." He chuckled darkly. "I will resolve them of those parasites. She can rule for me. I won't lose the throne with her on it. The people love her. She won't abandon me. Be blamed. She loves me too much…I'll see her…Often…" His mood was checked. Muttering, he plucked a candelabrum from its alcove and pushed one of the grey stones in the wall. The surface slid back seamlessly revealing a dark corridor. "It's only to live. She'll understand. I'll come to her whenever I can. It's to appease the people so I can stay. That's all."

Aizen moved into the darkness of the passage. His robes hung on his hunched back as he turned about and shut the door behind him, his last sight that of the Hogyoku gleaming in the dark. The, the door closed, and looked all the world like another piece of the living rock on which the palace had been built. Aizen nodded distractedly.

"Good foundations." Turning, he moved down the passageway by the light of his lonely candles.

Though his course took many twisting turns Aizen never hesitated in his steps, the long rehearsed motions moving him forth even as his mind trailed back and turned within itself like writhing snakes. Soon the roughness of stone was replaced by the familiar dim white of bricks of the palace proper. The corridors here were narrower and often branched off, the passageways of the castle numerous and few remained who knew them all. Aizen suspected he was the only one now, after old Yamamoto died. He smiled sardonically, his bearing slowly straightening.

"-rrive later."

Aizen froze. The back of a painting stood at his side, a secret panel like a screen from which a red light filtered forth from the other side. He recognized that voice. He turned to the painting from which it came.

A second voice came to him. Strong and caring. "Orihime, you have to realize. Aizen isn't good for the country."

"Ichigo…"

Aizen stepped nearer the painting.

"I'm not asking for you to betray him," he quickly assured her. "Don't worry. I would never…I won't let anything happen to you. Or your son. But, listen to me. The hangings, the witch hunts, he sees traitors everywhere Orihime. He may have saved the country in war, but we're in peace now. And peace doesn't demand a tyrant. But that is what we have."

"He's only doing what he thinks is right."

"But is it right?" Ichigo asked abruptly. "Is torturing families to find out where a son or daughter hides right? Is killing anyone who disagrees with him? Sticking his pirates in positions of power? Ousting nobles and seizing their assets? Is any of that right?" Aizen leaned towards the portrait, straining to hear even a whisper, but there was no reply.

Ichigo sighed. "Orihime…You're queen now. That means you might have to do things you…you never wanted to before. This is going to be hard on you. I'm not…I'm not saying you need to do anything. But when the time comes, just look the other way. Your throne is secured. As is your sons. He's yours too. That will be more than enough to offset what he gets from his father." The voice grew impassioned, perhaps bitter; the same tone which Aizen had heard when the red head had boarded his ship to take back his princess all those years ago. The king's knuckles grew white around the candelabra. "I swear. I won't let anything happen to either of you. You have my word.

"Orihime," Ichigo continued, almost pleadingly. "You made a choice all those years ago on that ship. To stay, to marry a monster to save a kingdom. Even after…I'm sorry, but you're going to have to make a choice again."

Silence greeted Aizen's ears. What were they doing? If only he could see her face. He felt if he could see her face he would know some great answer. He raised a hand and touched the back of the painting. The candle's flickering light revealed his ashen pallor. After a minute he heard the faint sounds of footsteps departing in opposite directions. He remained where he was for a very long time. Finally, he stepped back, away from the glow. With a breath he snuffed out the candle, and walked softly down the passage way, wreathed in utter darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Orihime woke groggily. She sat up in bed and looked about. On the wall the clock struck nine. She listened in silence, counting the chimes. Near an hour after she should have been awoken. This disturbed her more than she liked. She turned to the other half of the bed and sighed on seeing it empty. It had been too often of late, and she was growing increasingly concerned.

She shook her head and rose. Her white night gown settled about her full figure as she wandered about the room. Coming upon a washbasin she splashed the cold water against her face. Shaking away the droplets like morning dew from grass, she once more looked about her surroundings, now with more awareness, and a growing sense of unease. The routine of royalty had by now been firmly embedded in her, and it did not take her long to realize what was wrong. There were no servants.

She had brought some of her maids from her old home, women who had become friends, almost family to her, and who knew her routine better than she. She passed by the rumpled sheets where there normally would have been a dress laid out for the business of the day. The curtains, opened but a sliver, should have been tossed wide to greet her with daylight. Tatsuki - who she had hired as a friend when first assuming her unexpected post as head of the Inoue family - should have driven her from bed over an hour ago, Riruka with her bringing breakfast and grumblings about the queen's laziness, and Chizuru with a schedule of the day's events and…Orihime blushed and shook her head. She passed by her vanity and ran two fingers along the bleached white surface, as if to search for the dust of passed time. She looked about the bedroom, and could not help but feel how empty it all was. The only sound came from the fire place, which crackled with a subdued flame. Just above the mantle was a painting of Aizen and her on their wedding day. Orihime shuddered as, unbidden, her conversation with Ichigo came back to her. Her agitation grew stronger at that fateful memory. She pulled her dressing gown closer against a chill and hurried from the room and into the nursery.

Shelves of toys and books filled walls painted green and blue like the ocean sky. Several chests of toys sat nearby, the whole room orderly and neat. There sat the crib, its polished bars bright in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

The crib was empty.

A tightness formed in Orihime's chest. She rushed to it and looked inside. The blankets were tucked neatly in without a trace of someone having slept in them. The queen looked frantically about the room as if to find her son hiding among the furnishing, but nothing.

A distant splash of water broke the silence. Orihime whirled about at the sound, a hand at her chest to quell the sudden thrumming of her heart. Of course. Kidnappers don't tuck in sheets. Servants must have come at some point, for the fire was made and a basin of cold water prepared in her room. She tried to laugh at her worry and failed. She ran towards the sound, chased by echoing steps. She flung wide the doors to the antechamber.

"Ah. Orihime, you're up." Aizen beckoned her forward. "Please, come in."

Orihime stopped, her panic, for the moment, forgotten in her amazement. The antechamber was nearly empty save a small side table and chair placed in the very center of the room. The floors were polished to a mirror's shine and fairly glowed in the sunlight drifting through the arched windows which lined the walls. Not a shadow could survive in this room. Aizen stood in the exact center wearing only a pair of silken black pants and a white shirt whose top buttons were undone exposing the beginning of a toned chest. He looked serene, calm and composed, more so than Orihme had seen in a long time. But there was something different about him as well. It was hard to describe. He was off; as if the calm was different from his usual, was something which had settled on him rather than like a garment he wore.

"Sousuke," Orihime said. She took a few tremulous steps into the room, her clone gliding beneath her on the polished floor. "What's going on? Where's all the furniture?"

"I had it moved last night. I'm glad you had such a long rest. I need you at your best. Your servants were surprisingly insistent on coming in, but I made sure they didn't disturb you. You know how persuasive I can be, Orihime."

"I…" Orihime trailed off as Aizen stretched out a crop of leather. He unfurled a razor and began to sharpen in quick, sudden movements along the hide. She grabbed her arm as if to steady herself by it. "Where is Gen?"

"I sent him out with the nanny," Aizen replied with unnerving calm as the blade flashed in his hand. "Don't worry, he'll be fine. I'd never let anything happen to either of you. You, or our son. What a good boy. He'll grow up strong. My legacy. Besides, we haven't had any time to ourselves for a while now." He finished with the blade and tested the edge on the back of his thumb. Orihime stared as if hypnotized as the ruby red droplet rose on her husband's tan skin. Aizen smiled. "Perfect edge." He put down the blade on a small side table next to a bowl of water (the splashing sound, Orihime realized), a towel and soap.

He moved across the floor and took Orihime by the hand. She did not resist as he pulled her inside, led her to the chair and table in the centre of the room. When they arrived he released her and sat down calmly.

Orihime pulled back the hand he had led her with. "Aizen, are you quite alright?" she asked.

"I'm perfectly fine now, my dear. Here." He pressed the newly sharpened razor and shaving brush into her hands, then leaned his head back. "Careful. The blade is sharp."

She looked at the tools uncomprehending. "Why are you giving me these?"

Aizen rubbed the slight stubble on his chin. "I fear I've been neglecting myself of late," he told her. "I'd like you to give me a shave."

Orihime nearly dropped the razor in surprise. "What? You never let anyone shave you. Aizen, if you're feeling ill, I'm sure the servants could-"

"Orihime," Aizen interrupted breezily, bot forcibly. He closed his eyes. "Please. I need you to do this."

Orihime stopped mid word. There was something in that tone she hadn't the strength to argue with. Meekly, she took up the razor and brush. She swirled the soap and carefully coated it around her husband's chin. The white foam looked so much like a beard she couldn't help but smile to herself. She lost that smile the moment she picked up the blade. The sun flashed off the edge.

She held the razor uneasily. "Come now Orihime," Aizen said. "Now is the time."

"I'm not used to this…"

"I don't mind."

She nodded shakily and brought the blade to his cheek. Very carefully she began to slide its edge along his skin. As the blade came away she dipped it in the water to rid it of the foam and hair. Her confidence began to grow as she worked, and the motions came easier to her.

Aizen felt the long strokes of steel against his skin. "The ruling council will be held quite soon," he said. "They come to discuss the recent changes to the criminal warrants." He felt the steel still against his face. A moment later it moved once more, scraping away yet more of the rough hairs.

"I see."

Aizen smiled. "I would think you'd be happy. After all, it was there we first met."

"You say that as if there would be any familiar faces."

"You disprove my choices?"

"I can't say I approve," Orihime said. "The noble families on the council sat for generations. Lord Ukitake and Lord Kyoraku did not respond well to their positions being taken."

"Your very argument shows how necessary it was," Aizen said calmly. "The old noble families had gained too much power. They had become used to dictating to the crown. Orihime, I am no feeble Yamamoto. They needed to be reminded of their position. You can hardly say they represented the people anymore."

Orihime pursed her lips and her voice became hard. "And those you elected in their place do? They'll do anything you say."

Aizen sighed. "Yes, well, that was just the problem. The kingdom needed a single head Orihime. One mind. If everyone voted as they pleased, I would never get anything done. Too many of the others would simply block my reforms for the mere sake of it. If I want to rule, I need the power of a king. Not some bureaucrat."

Now it was Orihime's turn to sigh. She ran her free hand absentmindedly along Aizen's strong jaw line, feeling the newly smoothed skin, and in her preoccupation missing the way he tensed at her touch. "I know. I know. You always make sense, Sousuke," she said tiredly.

Aizen was quiet. He waited until the blade once more moved against him, feeling its edge scrape away at the coarse hairs. He slowly went lax upon the chair and leaned back his head, baring more of his throat.

"Ichigo is due to arrive in two days," Aizen said suddenly. Orihime started, the blade nicking Aizen's cheek. She gasped in horror. Aizen never flinched.

"Oh! Sousuke! I'm…I'm sorry."

"It's fine Orihime, it's fine," he said calmly. "It will heal. Please, continue."

The razor shook in her grip. "Aizen…I don't think…I might hurt-"

"Dry it with the towel," Aizen interrupted, and then his voice grew soft once more. "You haven't even finished half my face."

Orihime dabbed at the blood with the towel. She felt the tightness in her chest return, and when she brought the razor back, she had to wait until her hands stopped shaking before resuming. She felt tears start but choked them back. She was confused and afraid, and not sure why. She glanced at the mirror surface of the floor. Several drops of blood marred her reflection. The empty air of the room had grown heavy in the lull of silence.

"Are you looking forward to seeing him?" Aizen asked.

Orihime returned reluctantly to her task. She moved with far greater caution now. "I…Of course. He's…he's a very good friend, Aizen. As you know."

Aizen chuckled throatily. "Yes, he is, isn't he? He still loves you, I believe."

Orihime felt herself blush. "Sousuke!"

"Why would you be surprised?" he asked. "There were so many potentials that you and he ended up together. I told you all about it, remember?"

Orihime bowed her head. Her hair fell over Aizen's face, filling his world with the scent of strawberry. The scent of her. He could fairly sense her lips pout as they spoke. "You're teasing me."

"Because it is a delight to do so."

"Is everything a joke with you?"

"Not everything." Aizen said in sudden seriousness. "Only when I already know the punchline."

"Oh. Of course."

"And in the end," he continued, suddenly jumping back in the conversation, "you ended up with me." A smile touched his lips, warm and reminiscent. A contented, peaceful look, like those which grace the stone face of a sarcophagus. "I manipulated events, of course. To bring us both together. It has been some time since then, hasn't it? Much has changed."

He felt the blade quiver for a moment against his skin. "A…a great deal has. Yes."

For a moment the only sounds within the chamber was the slow scraping of the razor against coarse hair. "Do you know why I rule? Orihime?"

She paused. "Why?"

"Yes. Why. Why do you think I became king? Not how. We both know that. But why."

"I…I'm not sure, Aizen."

"I think you know," he pressed. "Tell me, Orihime. Why did I choose to become king?"

She was silent. He did not feel the blade against his flesh. "I…I think there are many reasons, Aizen."

He suddenly reached up and grabbed her wrist. She started, but could not pull free of his iron grip. He opened his eyes and stared into hers. "The truth, Orihime. I only ever want the truth from you."

Grey stared in wonder into blazing amber. Amber closed. Aizen sighed and released her hand. He waited patiently as she gathered her thoughts. Finally, he felt the blade move again against his skin. He did not show that it pressed harder than before.

"I think…I think you rule for you, Aizen. I don't think you rule for the country. Or the people. I…You have an ego. A large one. You need to be in command. I think that ruling over the seirietei isn't…You were right, those years ago. There were problems in the kingdom. Someone needed to rule. But…"

He hadn't realized he was holding his breath. He let it out, slowly. "But?"

"But I don't think you took the throne for that reason. Any other one would have worked. You took it for you. You wanted it, so did so. But you could have been a tyrant. You could have allied yourselves with the enemy, and taken the kingdom with them. They probably would have put you on the throne as regent or some sort. Then you could have looted the country as you liked."

"You are still quite astute." Aizen nodded, only slightly, for the blade remained pressed at his throat. "True. I could have."

"But you didn't," Orihime said, low and soft, her thoughts in turmoil, her expression saddened. "You didn't bother. So, you weren't after plunder. Or to rule the kingdom just to rule it. Because it's easier to rule as a tyrant than a king."

"Some say I am already."

Orihime shuddered. "Yes. Some do…"

"Do you?"

Orihime said nothing.

"Everything alright?"

"Fine. I'm fine."

"Ah…" Aizen exhaled deeply. "Ah. Orihime. You and Gen."

"Sousuke?"

"He would have been good to you," Aizen said wistfully. "Ichigo is an honourable man." He fell silent. The blade shook against his throat, pressed hard, nearly breaking the skin. He could feel his pulse hammer against it. The last of the foam was cold against his face. Aizen relaxed, his expression suddenly at peace. He even smiled.

"Finish, Orihime," he breathed.

The blade withdrew. There was a sigh from above and a gentle pressure as the last of his stubble was removed in a single stroke. "I am. Honestly Aizen," Orihime sighed. There was a splashing as she cleaned off the blade and dried it on a towel. "Next time you need someone to do this, get a servant."

Aizen did not move from the chair at first. "Don't worry, Orihime," he said and rubbed his smoothed chin. "I don't think it will be necessary again."

Orihime shook her head. She turned and began to wash her hands in the basin. She squeaked, straightening sharply in surprise as two arms suddenly wrapped around her. "Aizen!" she stammered, gasping as she felt his body against hers, his lips against her neck.

"Orihime," he murmured, his warm breath tingling against her skin. "I think it's high time I told you. I'm thinking of taking a bit of a trip, actually. Some of the enemy's ships have been reported to be plundering about the coasts after the war. I was planning on taking some of ours after them. Hunting them down."

Orihime shuddered as his hands rose, tracing her waist, her stomach, slid beneath and then cupped her breasts, gently kneading the pliant flesh through her gown. "A-Aizen! But…Ohhhh. But what about…"

"I trust you," he purred, caressing her, his lips at her ear. "Knowing you're here for me. That's enough." He kissed her ear, nibbling softly at the lobe.

Orihime moaned. She turned in his arms, looking up into his face, both shy and coy. She traced the flesh revealed through his open buttons. "And…I suppose you'll want something to remember me by," she murmured huskily.

He chuckled. "Ah, Orihime." He pulled her flush against him and inhaled the scent of her hair. "How could I ever forget you?"


End file.
